


"Yearning Through The Walls Of An Aching Heart"

by BarricadeButterfly



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Wuthering Heights - All Media Types, Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë
Genre: 19th Century, Abuse, Alternative Universe - Wuthering Heights Fusion, Basically a gay Wuthering Heights, Bullying, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Enjolras is Cathy, F/M, Grantaire is Heathcliff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry Vic Hugo and Emily B - don't haunt me, Love, M/M, Passion, Sad and Beautiful, Wuthering Heights story but with the characters from Les Mis, apologies for historical inaccuracies, breaking my own heart, gothic gay love story, short chapters because I'm trying to condense it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29638281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarricadeButterfly/pseuds/BarricadeButterfly
Summary: This is my slightly altered version of the story of Wuthering Heights with the characters from Les Mis, where Enjolras is a male version of Cathy and Grantaire plays the role of Heathcliff. I have stayed quite close to canon as far as WH is concerned (kind of), just left out the second gen storyline and altered a few minor things. Other WH characters replaced with Les Mis characters too and I REALLY hope this works as I love both these stories! The aim: sweeping, beautiful, passionate, gothic and hella gay.Please hit subscribe if you enjoy as I'll be uploading chapters continuously until it's complete.And please tip via kudos/comments if you enjoy!
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The Wuthering Heights characters are replaced by Les Mis characters as follows:
> 
> Cathy - Enjolras  
> Heathcliff - Grantaire  
> Nelly - Fantine  
> Lockwood - Valjean  
> Hindley - Montparnasse  
> Edgar Linton - Eponine  
> Isabella Linton - Cosette  
> \+ Marius plays some random dude!
> 
> I have altered the original WH timeline by 47 years to make the characters marry up nicely with their original canon timelines in Les Mis... That took maths skills I didn't know I had and made my brain ache!

_1847, at Wuthering Heights on a stormy night, with Valjean._

It was good of the woman to offer him a bed for the night without reservation; she had no confirmation of good character other than his word and the warmth of his handshake, yet she had ushered him through the door with not a moment of hesitation when he had knocked in search of sanctuary from the storm. She had said her name was Fantine, a housekeeper, and the sole occupant of the ramshackle house on this particular night. Confronted with such a revelation, he had wondered if his coming had been as fortuitous to her as her offer of salvation had been to him, for it can’t have been a welcome circumstance to be a woman alone in this place, and on this night when even the shadows seemed menacing. Either way, he was grateful to be out of the treacherous weather and to find himself with warm, dry lodgings for the night. She made him tea and supper and supplied him with clean blankets to carry with him to the room in which he would be sleeping.

“You shall find it quite cool in here, I’m afraid,” she said when returning to knock on his door a few minutes later with extra blankets in her arms. “I fear you may need these before the night is out. A fire has not been lit in this grate for many years and the damp has found its way in.”

“My dear lady, I am eternally grateful simply to be out of the battering winds and rain for the night. Anything more than that is luxury when I was close to preparing myself for a night huddled under the gorse. I assure you there is no need for concern.”

She observed him with bright caring eyes that belied her withered age. “Be that as it may, you would be wise to stay in this room until morning and not linger in taking your leave once the dawn brings respite. I ask that you heed this advice, for your own sake Sir.”

“Such an ambiguous statement, my dear! I implore you to expand on this, if it really should be so worthy of note.”

However, she said no more to the gentleman and only offered a tentative smile before departing. Alone, Valjean closed the door and shivered, but it was no ordinary cold that was circulating like an invisible predator about his legs. There was something haunting about the strange attic room in which he had been placed for the next few hours and he was quickly suspecting that sleep would not be easy here. He removed his hat, placing it down on the dusty bed, but kept his coat on and buttoned as he carried the candle to the writing desk beneath the window and looked out upon the moors beyond. His eye had barely taken in the dark silhouettes of the storm-swayed trees, however, before it was drawn back to the wooden surface below him. Like everything in this strange room, the desk was cloaked in a thick layer of dust but the crude knife markings were partially visible beneath it.

Placing down the candle, Valjean brushed his fingers over the words that had been scratched into the wood; two names, one colliding into the other: Enjolras and Grantaire.

He shivered again, not really knowing why, and walked his fingers across the abandoned desk and the long-forgotten implements upon it: a dry inkwell, the fragmented remains of a small skeleton – possibly a bird’s skull from the beak-like elongation, a moth-eaten handkerchief and a leatherbound journal. This last item he hooked a fingertip under the cover of and pushed it back to reveal the first page. There was little to be observed here, but the elegant swirl of letters displaying that name again: Enjolras, followed by the words ‘his book’. Valjean stroked his hand over the fragile pages and selected one at random, roughly half-way through the tome. By the dancing light of the candle flame, he began to read.

_I do not, and will not, ever concede to relent in this matter for it is no more than the folly of his blessed insecurities at fault. How he colours when I laugh but I cannot help it when his proposition is such a ludicrous one! Was I not so entertained by the humour of such a notion, I would perhaps be insulted that he thinks for one moment that I may be agreeable to taking Eponine for a wife, when she is like such a dear sister to me. It pleases me, though I suspect it shouldn’t, how he dislikes this imagined circumstance with such a stubborn passion but what is Grantaire if not stubborn and passionate? And what, then, am I, without him?_

It was not a lack of interest which compelled Valjean to stop reading but the sudden distraction of a branch scraping on the window-pane. The sound drew his eye back upwards to the glass in which he saw his own reflection staring back at him, along with that of a small blonde-haired boy. Gasping, Valjean dropped the book and turned on the spot, expecting to see the child in flesh and finding nothing there but the dark, dusty air. With a deep, calming breath, he turned back once more but this time his exclamation was considerably more audible at the revelation with which he found himself confronted; that same ghostly face, only this time on the other side of the glass, looking in at him from the storm that was making the blonde curls dance about his head in the ferocious wind.

In quick movements, he leant over the desk to throw the window open. “Gracious child, you must come in out of the cold! What on earth are you doing out there? How…. How is it possible?”

As Valjean rambled and the child only stared wordlessly, the old man began to understand that the figure with whom he was trying to converse was not of flesh and blood anymore. His own blood ran cold at this knowledge and he took an involuntary step backwards but this very action appeared to scare the ghost child into a response. With wide, fearful eyes as blue as solid ice, he observed the old man, and plunged a hand forwards through the glass in an attempt to grasp hold of him.

“Let me in, sir. Please let me come home!” His ethereal voice echoed through the room as if it was being projected from every darkened corner rather than from the haunting figure on the other side of the glass.

“What are you? What is this place?” Valjean exclaimed, and turned again at the sound of the door being thrown open behind him. It could only be the kind housekeeper Fantine so he was more than a little startled to find himself face to face with another gentleman; less finely dressed than himself, coatless yet dripping wet as if he had just come in from the storm himself. Upon the man’s feet were heavy boots that were caked in mud, his wet raggedy clothes were clinging to his muscular frame and giving Valjean a clear view of the way his chest was heaving beneath. There was a snarl on his face and in his dark eyes, only just visible below the curtain of damp brown curls that cascaded over his forehead. He smelled of earth and rain.

“What are you doing in here without permission?” he growled.

“The lady… your housekeeper… she kindly offered me a bed for the night,” Valjean explained, extending his hand only for it to be ignored. “I meant no intrusion, I am simply a weary traveller, yet I think I must be overly exerted from the long journey for I swear I could have just seen a blonde haired boy at the window here!”

Both gentlemen looked to the window but there was nothing to be seen other than the lonely branch scratching against the glass once more. Valjean felt compelled to attempt to explain his apparent insanity but he had no chance for within a second, the other gentleman had grabbed him by the arms and was forcibly removing him from the room.

“Get out of this room and get out of my house! You are not welcome here!” His voice was heavy with rage, as strong and determined as his physical movements, and Valjean had no chance to argue any words in response before he found himself on the other side of the door as it was slammed in his face.

Alone in the room, Grantaire allowed a weak gasping breath to escape from his throat as he hastened to the window and threw it open, leaning bodily out into the perilous storm.

“Enjolras? You taunt me in the very manner I requested and look, here I am going mad, and you still won’t appear before me? Have I not suffered enough? Why make yourself known to a stranger rather than me? Am I nothing more to you now? Enjolras…. _PLEASE!_ ” The words became louder, broken with desperation and despair, and lost in the sound of the howling winds and his own tears mingled with the lashing rain as they ran unguarded down his face.


	2. Two

_1810, 37 years earlier, on the moors, with a young Enjolras._

Fantine had instructed him to be home by the time the sun began to break over Penistone Crags, yet Enjolras knew as he journeyed back through the rocky heather, chasing his shadow ahead, that he was indeed late, as always. Ordinarily it wouldn’t be of enough significance to cause alarm; Fantine would simply chastise him for missing dinner and make him wash up in cold rather than warm water before he was allowed to eat. Such things didn’t bother Enjolras a jot, but today he knew that his father was due to return and this was an event he didn’t want to miss. He was irked by his own carelessness as he increased the pace, pondering dreamily as he walked on the absurdity of expecting anyone to be able to keep to a schedule when the moors lay, beckoning, on his very doorstep. Both his father and Fantine had often speculated that it was his young age that made him so forgetful and prone to becoming willingly lost on the moorland for hours at a time but Enjolras secretly disputed this; he knew without a doubt that he would be captured by the lure of the wild land as much in his adult years as he was now at the age of eight. How could he not be when it was where his soul roamed so freely?

By the time the slanting rooftop of Wuthering Heights rose on the horizon, Enjolras broke into a run for he was eager now to be home and reacquainted with his father after the man’s long absence. As kindly as Fantine was, she was not the mother that had been taken from them in childbirth years earlier, and his older brother Montparnasse was as distant and unfamiliar as any stranger. The only family Enjolras really knew was his father and he loved him dearly.

It was Fantine, however, who met him in the kitchen as he barrelled through the door, panting with exertion at the last sprint that had brought him home.

“Goodness, the state of you!” she exclaimed, tutting as she dried her hands on her apron and steered the child by the shoulder to the basin of water. “Take that tunic off and lets get you cleaned up for lunch. You can’t be greeting your father like this, what on earth would he think?”

“He’s back then? Has he been back long? Is he well, Fantine? Did he bring anything back with him this time?”

Fantine arched one brow as she began scrubbing at a stubborn streak of dirt on the boy’s neck. “I should say so.”

“What is that to mean?” Enjolras looked worried. There was no one who could read the hidden meanings behind the housekeeper’s various expressions better.

“It means the sooner you stop asking so many questions, the sooner you can see for yourself. And mind you react with more compassion than your brother chose to show. Your father is tired enough as it is after the long journey home.”

“Why is Montparnasse vexed?” It wasn’t a great shock; the older brother had become gradually more withdrawn and anxious since the death of their mother but even he had brightened over breakfast earlier that morning at the prospect of their father returning.

“Master Enjolras, is that yet another question I hear?” The corner of Fantine’s straight mouth raised in a smile and the boy laughed heartily for he knew she couldn’t stay angry with him for long.

*

Enjolras found his father in the parlour, seated in his favourite chair that had been turned to face the hearth where the morning’s fire was dwindling into embers. The sight of him reclining there with one elbow on his knee while the opposite hand pressed tobacco into his pipe was akin to hanging a portrait upon the wall, without which a room felt empty and loveless but in who’s gaze, one could not help but feel complete. Enjolras felt instantly warmed by the returning equilibrium that his father’s presence brought as he fell forward onto his knees and wrapped his arms around the man’s legs.

“I’m so glad you’re home Papa! I’ve missed you so!”

The old man laughed and reached down to pat his son’s head. “Ah, my boy, I’ve missed you too! I trust you’ve been good while I’ve been away?”

Enjolras drew himself away from his father’s legs but as he did so, his peripheral gaze was alerted by a sudden movement in the shadow of the chair. The old man’s attention fell the same way and his voice was soft as he spoke to the jittery shadow. “It’s quite safe to come out, you must not be afraid. Here, this is your new brother Enjolras. Come say hello to him.”

Enjolras got to his feet and silently observed the small figure that rose from beside the man’s chair and took a hesitant step forward into the light. It was a boy, no taller or older than himself but noticeably scrawnier and with a gaunt face that scared Enjolras a little in its resemblance of a barely concealed skull. His dark eyes – the darkest Enjolras had ever seen – were sunken in their sockets and his bottom lip was cut and marked with dried scabs. Like Enjolras, he also had a mess of curly hair atop his head but unlike Enjolras, his was as dark as mud and hung in tatty clumps about his ears. His skin was a little red, most likely from having been scrubbed by Fantine (Enjolras knew it well) and he was wearing Enjolras’ clothes that hung too loose on his slender frame.

“A new brother?” Enjolras asked.

“Grantaire and I happened upon each other during my travels, didn’t we boy? He has no home or family so we are going to provide him with both, and not a moment too soon, I say! How anyone can allow a child to suffer so cruelly is beyond my comprehension but there will be no talk of that from this moment on, for fate has given you a second chance and you shall be happy here with us. Isn’t that right Enjolras?”

It was a little too much for Enjolras to take in but he remembered Fantine’s words and responded by holding out a welcoming hand to shake which, after a gentle push of encouragement from the old man, Grantaire took within his own, his eyes never blinking once in his observation of the bright face beholding him.

“There! You shall be firm friends as well as brothers,” the old man declared. “I trust you will find my youngest son here a vast deal more accommodating than my other, but you must not take offence at Montparnasse, he is a quiet and troubled child but he is not to be feared for such. The world takes a variety of people to make it an interesting place to live and we must be grateful for that.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras spoke the name aloud to see how it felt on his tongue. “You shall be my project! I am going to polish you until you shine, like coal into diamond.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened and as he took a step back into the shadow of the chair, the old man seated upon it laughed and hooked an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Come now, my boy, there is no need to be so skittish! You have no more to fear from my youngest son’s exuberance than you do from my elder’s belligerence. Both are impassioned young men in their own ways, but neither means harm, and I doubt not that you can flourish greatly under the guiding hand of Enjolras here. Although perhaps brother is a better title than project, hey son?”

“Brother, yes,” said Enjolras with a confident nod. “I have always wanted another brother like myself. We shall have endless fun!”

Grantaire did not look convinced by any means, yet he smiled for the first time since his arrival. It was a timid but genuine smile and it looked lost on his haggard young face.

*

The room that Montparnasse occupied when he was home from college was the front facing light filled room that had once belonged to his mother. It looked out over the front of the sprawling farmhouse, the stables, a section of the west field where the sheep grazed and the winding path that approached from Gimmerton. After his mother’s death, he had taken to curling up on the bed at nights and consumed by his insurmountable grief, his father had allowed this ritual to continue until it had become habit. This, of course, meant that the smaller attic room which Montparnasse once shared with his brother became the sole property of Enjolras who was not sorry about the fact, for he enjoyed his privacy and own company. That is, however, until the previously vacant bed opposite his own was finally granted a new occupant in the form of Grantaire.

“You must not light your candle during the night but the moon is often bright enough to see by in here,” Enjolras instructed when they retired that first night.

Opposite him, Grantaire sat upon his bed in his new nightgown with his knees under his chin, staring at his roommate through the dim glow from the candle which was still burning from the writing desk beneath the window. The threadbare rug that filled the space between the two beds was worn and discoloured more on Enjolras’ side.

“Why can’t I light a candle?”

Enjolras looked momentarily puzzled to have been asked such a question but he answered politely. “It scares the ghosts away.”

“Ghosts?” Grantaire hugged his knees a little tighter.

“Yes, the night is their realm while we are sleeping and they must feel welcome to roam at will.”

“I don’t think I like ghosts. I certainly don’t want them in my room while I am sleeping,” said Grantaire with an involuntary shiver.

Across the room, Enjolras beheld him with a kind but serious stare. “You should not be afraid of ghosts, they cannot hurt you and nor would they. Those invisible souls deserve a place on this earth as much as our earthly ones do.”

Grantaire thought on this for a moment before he climbed into his bed and pulled the sheets up to his chin. “You aren’t like any boy I have ever met before.”

“You must tell me all about your life before you came here! I want to know what it was like in a big town. Oh, but I am not to ask, am I? Papa said we were not to talk of it.” Enjolras moved from one side of the room to the other in a couple of light strides and climbed up onto the end of Grantaire’s bed. “Very well, I am not going to ask you anything about your last life but may I just ask you one question? You may even tell Papa that I asked you if you wish.”

Grantaire looked over the top of the sheet at the big blue unblinking eyes. “Umm… I guess so.”

Enjolras shuffled a little closer to the boy on his knees. “You are very afraid. You are like the mouse I caught in the stable last week. What are you afraid of?”

“People, I guess. People who hurt people.”

“That is a curious answer. I cannot imagine being scared of people.”

“You have not encountered the same people as I have.”

There was pain in Grantaire’s expression at these words which made Enjolras uncomfortable. He had no concern for the rage of others; having been on the receiving end of his brother’s beatings many a time, and such a thing held no threat to him. He didn’t fear bruises and broken bones; what he feared was a damaged heart or worse, an incomplete soul. These things were less easily repaired. Grantaire, however, seemed to be suffering from both types of affliction and this was not to be borne lightly.

“Your fear has no place here Grantaire. Not a soul in this house will hurt you.”

“Even Montparnasse?”

Enjolras shrugged. “He is not here very often now that college has started. Besides, he has a really weak punch.”

At this, Enjolras grinned and hopped off the bed, heading back to his own, looking quietly confident. Grantaire watched the other boy and found himself smiling again.

“Enjolras?”

“Yes?”

“What are you scared of?”

Enjolras leant over to blow the candle out and then lay flat on his back with his hands under his head and sighed. “I’m not scared of anything, Grantaire. Not a soul in this world has any power over me.”

*


	3. Three

_Two weeks later, in the gardens at Wuthering Heights, with Grantaire._

It occurred to Grantaire that Fantine did more than her fair share of work around Wuthering Heights, yet she never seemed to tire of her seemingly endless chores. Of course, he had never lived in a house with a housekeeper before and had nothing but his own moral compass to guide him on the matter but it was telling him the woman deserved kindness and respect in plentiful amounts. Not that she didn’t receive exactly that from the other members of the household; there were times when she seemed more like a member of the family than an acquaintance, yet she wasn’t and neither was he, and perhaps that was the exact reason why Grantaire felt a kinship with the woman.

It was a warm morning in mid-March and she was bent over a patch of soil in the garden with a rusty trowel in her hand and the sun on her back. Grantaire was squatted down beside her, prodding at the dirt with one finger. It smelled earthy and safe which was not dissimilar to the appeal of Fantine herself.

“If this is your contribution, I fear I would be better inclined to complete the job myself. Here,” she said and handed him the trowel before standing and pressing one hand to the small of her back. “Copy what I have done with these other rows while I fetch the seeds. You can manage that, yes?”

He still sometimes found it difficult to engage his voice since arriving so he simply nodded, took up the trowel and began to work. She watched him for a moment of silence before she sighed, at what he wasn’t sure, and retreated to the house.

The child was happy to have a useful occupation; especially one which benefited the housekeeper, and he set to work immediately, determined to have the job completed by the time Fantine returned. The trowel was soon discarded in favour of his hands which did a better and quicker job, his fingernails clogged with damp soil, and he was chewing on his bottom lip as he moved along on his knees, readying the earth for the fresh crops it would grow, and feeling increasingly pleased with himself. The unblemished sun was bleeding heat down on the top of his head and making a line of perspiration gather along his brow so when a shadow fell over him, he welcomed it and looked up expecting to meet the gaze of Fantine.

“What are you doing?”

Grantaire squinted up into the scowling face of Montparnasse and felt his stomach lurch expectantly. He had been on the receiving end of such a look many times by other older boys when he lived on the streets and he knew what it meant. His ribs were inclined to hurt with the mere implication of it, as if the memories of beatings were enshrined in his marrow.

“I’m helping Fantine. We are planting seeds. Vegetables of some kind.” He looked back to the hole he was digging with the sincere hope that this was the end of the conversation.

“Good. This is good to see.”

Curiosity made Grantaire look back up into the narrowed eyes. “Good?”

“You have latched onto the housekeeper like her servant boy, and correctly so. I am pleased that you know your place so that I am not burdened with the task of teaching it to you, as I’m certain you would not find that pleasurable. You have saved me an anticipated chore there and I would even go as far as to thank you… if you were a man worthy of such a thing,” said the older boy with a sneer, before he turned and walked away.

Grantaire breathed hard through his nose as he resumed digging with a little more ferocity than before, biting so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted blood. Only a moment later, he heard quick footsteps approaching again but didn’t bother to raise an investigative eye this time, even when he heard a kinder voice begin to speak as its bearer neared.

“What are you planting? Can I help?”

How two brothers could be so drastically different from one other was astounding and Grantaire still couldn’t help but wonder if they perhaps weren’t. He had learned the hard lesson of trusting a rose, only to be cut by its thorns, and knew that a kind face could easily be worn as a mask. When Montparnasse bent so easily to the will of malice, was it even possible that the same blood could not taint his younger brother in equal measures?

“You should not lower yourself with menial servants work Enjolras. The very fact that you offer such a thing makes you either cruel in your mockery or simply imbecilic and either way, I pity you, and I have no time for pity so please take your leave and let me be.” Not once did Grantaire look up at the boy as he spoke for he knew if they were to meet eyes, he would lose the fire of rage that Montparnasse had stoked within him.

“Grantaire, you are being needlessly cruel and I don’t like it.”

“And I should care that you don’t like it because your feelings are much worthier than mine, is that correct?”

Enjolras sank down onto his knees in front of the other boy who still refused to meet his gaze. “You are an impossible boy.”

Grantaire scoffed in response and continued digging, paying no attention to the sight of Enjolras’ pale hands plunging into the earth next to his own until they retracted with fistfuls of soil that were promptly thrown straight into Grantaire’s chest. Wide-eyed, he gasped and finally looked up to the face of Enjolras whose grin broke into a laugh at the sight of the shock he had caused.

“And now you look as silly as you sound!”

It was anger that made Grantaire grab a handful of soil to launch back at his attacker but when it landed with a gentle thump against the side of the boy’s neck and all he did was laugh, Grantaire couldn’t help himself from laughing too and when he reached back into the ground for more ammunition, Enjolras did the same and the messy fight began. Grantaire was having so much unexpected fun that the task which had seemed so monumental in its importance up to now became redundant and as he chased a shrieking Enjolras around the garden amid flying muddy missiles, neither boy heard the disgruntled yet hesitantly amused sound of Fantine’s voice from the doorway: “Boys! You little rascals!”

*

Grantaire did not want to like Enjolras; life was easier when he didn’t like anyone and kept himself to himself, yet there was something compelling about the boy which became harder to ignore over time. He was unlike anyone, child or adult, who Grantaire had ever known. He was entirely without pretention and grounded in humility yet he lived with his head in the stars. He favoured the moors over anywhere and brought back various trinkets from his excursions; discarded birds nests, hag stones, crude staffs he had fashioned from broken branches and on one occasion, the skull of a badger, still smelling faintly of rotting flesh and sat upon the writing desk in the bedroom, staring at them for months before Enjolras decided to take it back out to the moors and bury it. He was enthralled by the stars at night and the way the earth changed season by season. He saw beauty in the little things that others dismissed; the fragile carcass of a moth, the way a spiderweb captured droplets of dew on a frosty morning, the smell of the air directly before a storm hit, and the colours that could be seen in a puddle if the sunlight hit it just so. He missed nothing and valued everything; the world was a fascinating wondrous place to Enjolras, and Grantaire wanted to see it through his eyes. To have survived nearly a decade on this planet without needing to learn how to weave a protective shell of cynicism for himself was something Grantaire could not fathom, yet Enjolras didn’t seem naïve or wholly innocent either. His eyes held the depth of a world-wearied old man who had lived many a tale and grown from each of them. And they were bluer than anything Grantaire had ever seen. In short, it was almost impossible to not be enthralled by Enjolras.

Montparnasse was a different matter. Nobody saw the bruises he inflicted upon Grantaire and nobody heard the scathing words he attacked with because he was careful, sly and entirely despicable to the young boy. There was nothing redeeming about Montparnasse except, possibly, his frequent absences from Wuthering Heights.

He did, however, have one skill. He succeeded where everyone else failed on the one and only occasion that he reduced Grantaire to tears. It was late afternoon and he had been cornered by the older boy in the stables while feeding the horses, subjected to such harsh blows to the stomach that he had vomited all over the freshly laid straw, and been made to clear it up while Montparnasse stood over him laughing and berating him with every insult he could think of. When the older boy had departed, Grantaire had sunk to the floor, hugged his knees, bowed his head and felt the heat of angry tears burn his face. Crying was so alien to Grantaire that he made himself feel uncomfortable doing it but he was so thoroughly defeated in that moment, with no light of hope left in his soul. He sat until he became numb and the sky outside darkened and when Enjolras came running into the stables to search him out, he was only just visible by the light of the setting sun on his back.

“Grantaire? Are you in here? Supper is ready,” he called, scanning the darkness, before his eye fell upon the shadow of Grantaire huddled against the wall with his head still on his knees. His pace slowed as he approached him and he said nothing but lowered himself to the floor beside the boy, leaning back against the wall and bringing his knees up in a mirror position.

Grantaire tried not to sniffle. He did not want Enjolras, or anyone, to know he had been crying.

When Enjolras spoke, it was almost a whisper and sounded softer than Grantaire had become used to. “You think I don’t know what my brother is doing to you. Do you think he does not do it to me also? Although in truth he has not since you arrived so you would be right to blame me for your pain.”

“I blame you for nothing Enjolras and I hope you will not blame me when I hurt your brother because I will find a way to do exactly that one day, I promise you.” As he heard the words come out of his mouth, Grantaire knew them to be true. In that very moment he made a silent vow to make Montparnasse pay for his actions and he promised himself that not only would he never be reduced to tears again, but he would never be broken by anyone or anything. He would fear nothing. He would be unbreakable. The rage deep inside him felt as if it was growing into strength and he liked how that felt.

“I think I should be more upset if you were the one hurt, Grantaire, for you are more a brother to me than he.”

“I don’t know how it feels to have a brother,” said Grantaire truthfully and tried to imagine such a thing. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you though. I should want to protect you from any attempt to do so. Is that correct for a brother?”

“If you were to ask that question to Montparnasse I imagine he would say no but as you are asking me I will say yes because truthfully, I feel like I have been punched in the stomach when I think you are hurt. I would not have thought it possible to feel another’s pain but perhaps if there is a connection of your souls then such a thing really can happen.” Enjolras spoke with conviction, as he always did and, beside him, Grantaire softened.

“You think we have a connection of souls?”

“Yes, of course. Can you not feel it? I am pretty sure we are one and the same, Grantaire. That surely makes us brothers more than the blood in our veins ever could. My father was obviously destined to find you and bring you home to me.”

He made it sound like the orphaned boy was now his property but Grantaire did not mind that so much. He had never belonged anywhere and to anyone so to feel the warmth of belonging was as welcome as it was unfamiliar. He turned his head and Enjolras’ eyes locked instantly onto his stare. Grantaire sniffed hard and rubbed his nose with a grubby fist. Enjolras smiled, sighed softly and leant his head on the other boy’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little discrepancy with this chapter that's bugging me so I have to note it: I know Enj as a child here is not true to canon adult Enj in Les Mis but I think as a child he would have been more like this and I definitely see similarities between canon Enj and Cathy so I've just embellished a little! Child Enj would have been a handful, I think, but in a good, high-spirited way!


	4. Four

_That Summer and beyond, on the moors, with Enjolras and Grantaire._

The sweeping expanse of rugged moorland on his doorstep was as familiar to Enjolras as anything in his life. He knew the lay of the land as if a map of it was etched into his skin; as if the wandering network of trickling streams were the blood flowing in his veins and the gentle incline and descent of the land was the rise and fall of the chest that caged his beating heart. He could tell how far away from Wuthering Heights he was by the surrounding view at any given location, as well as how long it would take him to return home. It was not always the rustic farmhouse nestled in the moorland that represented home to him, however. Sometimes home was the moorland itself and over time, his father became less distressed if the boy ended up spending more time on the heather covered hills under the invigorating summer sun than he did under the comparatively darker, dismal roof of the house. He always returned when he was hungry or cold, although he rarely seemed plagued by such earthy distractions. Enjolras was a child who needed freedom for nourishment above all else and seemed not to ever hear the call of his body louder than the call of his soul.

After having spent most of his short life without the security of solid walls around him, Grantaire, by comparison, was less taken with the moors but thoroughly taken with Enjolras. If the moors were home to Enjolras, Enjolras himself was home to Grantaire. He was as content to follow him wherever he felt compelled to roam as the other boy was to entertain his company and it soon became a rarity to find one without the other.

Grantaire knew the importance of being allowed in all the secret, special places Enjolras had discovered and claimed for himself. One such place was a shallow cave mouth on the sloping southern hills of the moors and it soon became a base from which they explored, rested and sheltered. In those first years together, it was also a pirate ship, a magical portal to another world and a secret encampment in enemy territory.

“Where is the red flag of our camp? Do not tell me you have left it out there where they can use it to locate us! Grantaire, you have signed our deaths with your own hand! There is no hope for us now.”

Even when pretending, the mere prospect of hurting Enjolras was too much to bear and Grantaire, upon flying back into the cover of the cave where his comrade was waiting, had barely caught his breath before he jumped back to his feet and made once more for the rocky mouth of sunlight.

“No! It is too late!” Enjolras hissed, lunging forward to grab at the boy’s sleeve and wrench him back to the ground where they were suitably hidden behind a makeshift wall of rocks. “It would be sacrificing yourself to go back out there now! The flag is lost.”

Grantaire’s eyes shone. “Nothing is ever lost when I am here to retrieve it, and nor will it ever be, so you must stop worrying at once. No harm will come to either of us today.”

Enjolras drew the boy into a rough embrace. “You are a brave warrior! I will not rest until you return. Go, and be safe!”

The swell of pride Grantaire felt upon racing back out to the tree where the handkerchief had been tied and releasing it with swift, nimble fingers before flying back into the cave with all the terror of an invisible army at his back, firing aimlessly at his fleeting form, was euphoric, and he felt every bit the powerful victor as he returned to Enjolras side and was wrestled into another ecstatic embrace.

“I knew it! I knew you would save us! You will always save me, I have no doubt!”

Grantaire had never felt prouder than he did in that very moment. “Nor should you! I will always return and save you from peril.”

“If we die, we die together as brothers, but it will not be today!”

“You shall not die, Enjolras, I will never permit it.”

Enjolras laughed. “Of course I shall die one day, silly! But then if you are stubborn enough to remain when I move on, I will return to haunt you into madness because there will be no afterlife for me anyway if you are not there to share it, and I refuse to travel forever alone without you.”

A sudden shiver tickled Grantaire’s spine and he laughed as he playfully shoved Enjolras over and sprung again to his feet. “As if I would ever leave you alone! It is clearly you who have been haunted into madness, brother! Do not be infecting me with it!”

Enjolras scrambled back to his feet and let out a piercing howl that echoed off the cave walls. “See? I am as mad as a wild beast!”

“Not as mad as I!” Grantaire howled back, louder and fiercer and a battle of animalistic sounds ensued as the two boys chased around the perimeter of the cave, trying to outdo each other and themselves.

It was only when another sound, fainter yet higher than their mingled voices, alerted Enjolras’ acute senses and he fell into silence, grabbed Grantaire by the arm as he was about to sprint past and held him fast. “Shh! Listen… Do you hear that?”

There was a moment of silence before the sound came again.

“It sounds like crying,” said Grantaire who had more experience of hearing such a sound than his companion.

Without saying a word, the two boys crept further into the shadows of the innermost part of the cave, tracing the timid sound of muffled tears to its origin, which was harder than they expected with the reverberation of sound waves in this dank and hollow area. It smelled less of the fresh summer air and more of a fetid dampness the deeper into the cave they ventured and the light was giving out more with every step.

“There!” Enjolras announced, pointing to a shuddering shadow that darted across the wall in response to his voice. “Hey, don’t be scared! We will not hurt you. Please come forward into the light so we can see you.”

The sound of sniffling came first before the image of a young girl appeared. She was dressed finely yet there were mud stains on her skirts and the bonnet on her head was untied, with one ribbon frayed and attached to a stray branch of prickly bracken. As she took another tentative step forward, it was evident she had been indulging in a lot of crying for her face was red and puffy, her eyes swollen and lines of tear-stained blemishes had dried on her grubby skin.

“What are you doing in here Miss?” Enjolras asked, taking a step toward the girl at exactly the same time as Grantaire took a step back.

“I was exploring and… and I became lost… I have no way of returning home,” said the girl and began to cry again.

“Please do not be so upset Miss. There is no need! We can escort you home, and are happy to do so, once we know where home is?”

“Yes, tell us where you came from,” added Grantaire because he wanted Enjolras to remember that he was also there. It was cruel to feel resentful of the girl for ruining their fun yet he could not help himself.

The girl sniffled, hugging herself protectively against an imagined threat. “I have just moved into my Aunt’s house with my younger sister… Our parents died and my Aunt is to be our guardian but I do not think she is happy about this… She likes having the big house to herself, I think.”

“It is a big house then? You must have walked a long way,” Enjolras mused for he knew with certainty there was at least four miles between the cave in which they were stood and the nearest dwelling.

“Yes, the Grange is big but it does not feel like home. It is too big and empty and I feel myself lonely in its walls.”

“You are talking about Thrushcross Grange,” said Enjolras with a confident nod. “I know of the best and quickest route back there but it may mean having to go through shallow water if you are agreeable to that, Miss? And I fear we should be starting out now if we are to get you there before night fall. Once we reach the water, you are welcome to climb on my back to get across if that would not offend you?”

The girl smiled for the first time. “I am Eponine, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

From the expression of pride on Enjolras’ face, it would seem the sentiment was returned but Grantaire, however, felt significantly less charitable as he led the way out of the cave.

*

Eponine’s Aunt and the mistress of Thrushcross Grange was an elderly woman who was as short as she was thin but what she lacked in physical stature, she more than adequately compensated for with character. Madame Gillenormand was not a woman who feared much in the world since she had found herself alone in the world after the impromptu death of her husband six years earlier and been forced to find a way to survive without him. There was little that she succumbed to, including the death of her younger sister only two months ago and certainly not the resulting event of being burdened with the care of two young children at the age of forty-five. She simply accepted the adjustment that was needed for their lives to continue and applied the necessary modifications to make it actionable. She was disciplined, cool headed and organised, but she was not in any way a warm or loving woman, particularly to children.

When Eponine returned via the guidance of Enjolras and Grantaire, Madame Gillenormand was more concerned with the repercussions such an event would cause on her respectability in the community than the safety of her errant niece.

“We must have your parents to tea,” she announced, ushering a bedraggled looking Eponine through the door and sighing defeatedly over the two young boys who stood before her, looking proud. “Lord only knows what they will think of us otherwise.”

“We do not have a mother, Miss,” Enjolras announced casually as if it was no more important a declaration than noting the weather. “And our father is rarely at home as his business keeps him away a lot.”

“You are left unsupervised?” Madame Gillenormand’s expression contorted into one of obvious distaste.

“We have staff at the Heights, and our housekeeper Fantine takes care of us. Please, do not be alarmed on our behalf, there is no need,” said Enjolras and beside him, Grantaire made a low growling sound in his throat. He wanted to grab Enjolras and pull him away from this woman and this place without delay.

Eponine, apparently recovered from her ordeal despite her questionable appearance, skipped forward and pushed her way past her Aunt’s skirts. “They are my heroes, and we must not let them go without a reward! Please, Aunt, may they have supper with us? And can we take them home in the carriage? It is an awfully long way for them to travel.”

“We will be expected already and we must not cause concern at home,” said Grantaire with urgency. “Come, Enjolras, we have delivered her safely home. We do not need to stay any longer.” Turning back to the woman in the doorway, he nodded respectfully. “We should bid you farewell.”

“Grantaire is probably right,” said Enjolras with obvious disappointment. “But I should very much like to return if that would be suitable? The young miss has no friends and we would be happy to offer her companionship should she be willing. Wouldn’t we Grantaire?”

Grantaire stared and said nothing. Eponine squealed with delight and rushed forward to wrap her arms around Enjolras’ neck.

“Oh my first friend and my saviour! I am delighted to have been lost now.”

“Eponine! Goodness, child, release him at once and come here,” the old woman scolded.

Reluctantly, Eponine let go and blushed as she retraced her steps into the house, smiling sweetly.

“Of course, you both must always feel welcome to return. Your kindness will not be forgotten,” said Madame Gillenormand with a cold smile before she retreated.

As Enjolras and Grantaire took their leave, the latter could feel the tumultuous combination of fear and rage churning within him. Enjolras, however, was positively gleeful.

“I don’t like her,” said Grantaire when they were far enough away from the Grange.

“Neither do I really but she is old and bitter. I hope Eponine and her sister do not take on her ways!”

Grantaire debated correcting the mistake but decided against it. Enjolras obviously did not share his views on the girl; it would do no good to point this out. He caught Enjolras’ eye as they walked and smiled, in spite of his sour mood, because it was difficult not to when the other boy was so happy. “You just want to ride in their carriage.”

Enjolras laughed. “Brother, we are due some luxuries, I fear! And why not?”

Grantaire fell silent. He did not want any luxury other than to share his life with this boy. There was nothing more luxurious to him than that.


	5. Five

_Months later, “Chasing the twilight of childhood”_

There was only one thing that held more power over Enjolras’ emotions than his own will, and that was Grantaire’s mood. When the latter was happy and content, it was easy for Enjolras to feel the same, yet when Grantaire fell into darkness, Enjolras had no choice but to accompany him, whether or not he wanted to. The carefree young boy who had lived a relatively painless existence up until his father had brought the orphan home, now discovered himself incapable of detaching from the other boy enough to remember who he had ever been without him. There was a darkness in Grantaire that he had not known in himself but could no longer escape and at times, he resented the other boy for this. He could be insufferable, yet to not have to suffer with him was unthinkable. Enjolras would forever choose a single day in the darkness with Grantaire over a lifetime in the light without him.

Grantaire, however, did not concern himself with making it easy.

“You are stealing my light, Enjolras. Please will you move?”

The young boy obstinately remained in the same position for a further minute, after which, when Grantaire had not spoken another word, he sighed and shifted a step to the right where the sun that was on his back fell instead upon Grantaire.

“Can I see what you are drawing?”

Grantaire, with his back against the wall, instinctively drew the paper up from where it had been leaning on his knees and hugged it to his chest as he looked up at Enjolras, stood over him and still partially blocking out the sun. “No, it is not finished.”

“So?”

“So you will just laugh.”

Enjolras scowled. “Why would you even think that of me? It is only because you are in a dark mood that you say such a thing. You wouldn’t be so cruel otherwise.”

“I’m not being cruel. I am never cruel to you. I could not be.”

Enjolras thumped his fists onto his hips. “You are being cruel now. To imply that I would laugh at your drawing and make fun of you and hurt you when you know that I would rather hang by the neck from the beams of our ceiling.”

Grantaire jumped to his feet, still hugging the paper to his chest and shoved Enjolras angrily as he marched away from the house. “Don’t say things like that!”

“Like what? You are not going to run away from me Grantaire!”

“Watch me,” the boy answered and began to do exactly that, his pace quickening to a sprint as he began across the yard, leaping over the gate rather than stopping to unlatch it and not looking back once as he made for the moors.

Enjolras remained just a step or two behind him. In some ways he was not as strong as Grantaire but he was easily twice as agile and he could have caught up with him in a matter of strides without losing his breath, had he wanted to. It suited Enjolras, however, to stay quiet and to stay back and allow Grantaire to pace it out until they were far enough from Wuthering Heights that the house had been swallowed by the heathery curve of the land. At this point, he closed the gap between the two of them and turned Grantaire roughly by the arm so that they were face to face.

“Now you tell me!” Enjolras demanded and there was so much anger in his expression that the other boy was momentarily silenced by it.

He recovered and shook him off. “Tell you… what?”

“What is making you behave this way! You have been like this… like a black cloud has come over you… for several weeks now and I do not like it Grantaire, I do not like it one bit! Why do you not see that it is not just yourself you are assigning misery to by being this way?”

“I have done nothing to hurt anyone. Tell me, who have I hurt Enjolras, just by being myself?”

Enjolras, his eyes brimming with tears, took a step forward and pushed the other boy by the shoulders so hard that he lost his balance. “Me, of course! Why on earth must I explain what is so obvious? Your pain is mine also and I don’t like suffering this way! I will not bear it any longer. So you tell me Grantaire. You tell me right now!”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes, thought for a moment, and then grabbed Enjolras by the wrist. “I will not tell you but I will show you.”

No further explanation was offered and Enjolras didn’t push for one as he allowed himself to be led across the grass until it became obvious they were making for the cave they had claimed for their own.

“What is here that I have not already seen a million times? Stop playing games and just tell me.”

Still, Grantaire said nothing until he had dragged the other boy into the muted light of the cave and towards an overhanging part of the rocky roof to which he pointed up at when they were stood directly beneath. “There is your answer.”

Enjolras reached up, for the surface at this point was low enough to touch, and ran his fingers delicately over the chalk marks above his head. “What do these mean?”

“The circles represent the days we have spent together and the crosses are for the days you have spent with Eponine.”

There was a moment of silence as Enjolras scanned a curious eye over the array of white crosses and the small cluster of outnumbered circles. When he moved his gaze back to Grantaire, he looked hurt by the revelation and his voice was soft once again. “There is no need at all for you to be jealous of Eponine. If you would only be less stubborn in your determination to dislike her, we could all spend these days together and there would be no separation at all. Why must you be so ungracious to her?”

Grantaire felt the overwhelming urge to cry angry tears and the shock of it made him turn his back on Enjolras and march out of the cave back into the sunlight, where he made just a few strides before he drew to a stop and sank down onto the grass with a sigh, still clutching his now slightly creased drawing to his chest. Thankfully Enjolras seemed to have forgotten about his interest in that which Grantaire was equally relieved and dismayed by. Saying nothing, Enjolras joined him and they sat side by side in silence for a few minutes, an uneasy calm settling.

“You will marry her and she will take you away from me.”

Enjolras stared at Grantaire until the other boy was forced to look up and meet his eyes. “I will not marry Eponine. She is no more than a sister to me.”

“As I am a brother.”

“It is different with you and I Grantaire and you know this. Had we to separate, there would be physical pain which would kill us both from the inside out because we belong together, whether we want to or not. I cannot exist without you and I never want to have to try.” There was something in the way he spoke the words, the tone of his voice when he said them, that Grantaire had never heard before and he liked the way he felt renewed with his own vitality just on the strength of it.

“You will marry one day.”

“As will you.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly, his eyes never once releasing Enjolras from the intensity of the gaze in which he held him. “No. I shall not marry anyone. A woman will only try to take me away from you. Why would I ever allow that?”

“And you think I would? Nobody will ever come between us Grantaire. I will not allow it to happen. I should die first.” Again, a moment of silence passed and the undeclared emotion that it carried was so oppressing that eventually, Enjolras couldn’t bear it anymore and he laughed, leaning forward to pluck the paper out of Grantaire’s arms. “All this madness just to see your drawing! I must know what you are working on-“

Panicking, Grantaire lunged forward to retrieve the paper from Enjolras’ hands but his haste was futile for Enjolras had already uncovered the portrait and was staring in fascination at the smiling face depicted so beautifully before him; in particular, the familiar eyes peeking out from a curtain of wayward light curls.

“This is me?”

Grantaire snatched the paper back and grimaced, feeling the colour rush to his face. “You are easy to draw. It is the one thing about you that is agreeable!”

Enjolras laughed as he stretched back against the grass and rested his hands beneath his head. “And there is the brother who I love so dearly!”

*

After that, Grantaire stopped hiding his drawings and Enjolras seemed to enjoy striking different poses as his willing model. Within weeks, the two of them had gathered a collection and Grantaire kept them under his bed where he knew they were safe and close. It gave him comfort when he fell asleep each night knowing Enjolras was on the other side of the room and the drawings of him were even closer. On occasions, he would retrieve them, sit upon his bed and lay out each picture in front of him to study, like a blanket of Enjolras draped across his bed. He admired his own skill almost as much as he admired the subject of his studies. Having an occupation that brought him so much joy and was safe to participate in was a rarity indeed to the young boy and he welcomed it gladly and nurtured it within himself at every opportunity.

On one such occasion, he was using old portraits as a visual aid to his memory as he worked on a new one while Enjolras was absent. Both boys, as usual, had been invited to Thrushcross Grange and Grantaire, as usual, had rejected the invitation. He was attempting to make peace with Enjolras’ friendship with Eponine, though it did not come easily to him, and absolving himself from the impossible task by becoming lost in his drawing was too appealing to ignore. He was so absorbed in the job at hand that he did not immediately hear the approaching footsteps from the stairs.

“What is this? Is that my brother?”

At the sound of Montparnasse’s voice, Grantaire’s head shot up and he instinctively started gathering the sheets of paper into a messy pile. He was not scared of the older boy or the beatings that inevitably came with his presence, but he was scared for the safety of the drawings he valued and had spent so much time and love creating.

Montparnasse knew exactly where the real heart lay at which was best to strike for the most painful blow. He looked as sickened as he was amused when he strode across the room and wrestled the papers roughly out of Grantaire’s hands.

“What are you doing drawing pictures of my brother? Just when I think you cannot become even more of a freak than you already are. You still surprise me, kid. I will admit that.” With nothing more than a cruel laugh, he launched the handful of drawings onto the nearby fire.

“No!” Grantaire jumped to his feet and fell onto his knees in front of the fire but just as he stretched his hands out into the flames, Montparnasse grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

“Not so fast,” he snarled as he held the wriggling boy with one strong arm around his neck so he could not move or look away from the sight of the flames licking at the edges of his beloved pictures and slowly eating their way across them.

“Please!” Grantaire pleaded weakly, though he could do nothing but watch as the images of Enjolras disintegrated into ash before his eyes. The hold Montparnasse had on him was too strong to fight against, despite how hard he tried.

“I wouldn’t waste your girlish tears,” the boy sneered, his breath hot in Grantaire’s ear, before he finally released him with one hard shove that sent the younger boy straight down onto his knees. He walked out of the room barely minutes after he had entered it, with a last glance over his shoulder at the carnage he had left. “They weren’t very good anyway.”

It was the first in a long time that Grantaire had had an exchange with Montparnasse which didn’t result in fresh bruises on his skin but it didn’t feel any less painful as he crawled up to the fire and tried to salvage what he could from the remains. A couple of scraps of paper had avoided the heat and from one of them, he could see the image of Enjolras’ left eye smiling up at him. Shaking with the rage that was pulsating through his body, he plunged a hand into the grate and scraped up a handful of hot ash, not flinching once at the needle like pain that grappled his skin, and crushing it into nothing in the strength of his fist.

*

The sky was beginning to darken with the onset of dusk when Enjolras trotted up the stairs on his return, eager to share with Grantaire an account of his outing. He knew the boy would be bitter of course, just as he always was when Eponine was involved, but he had brought home cake that Aunt Gillenormand had astonishingly deigned to make and he was hopeful it would cheer him up because it was really rather good. The room they shared was dark enough to warrant a candle being lit yet when he entered the room, there was no light to see by other than the muted sun as it sank on the horizon. The room was quiet and still and for a moment it appeared empty but Enjolras could always feel Grantaire’s presence even if he could not see it and a moment later, his eye fell upon the shadow of the boy on the bed, curled up on his side with his head in his arms.

“Grantaire, whatever is the matter?” Enjolras could feel the sadness emanating from the other boy as he hurried over to him and it scared him. When Grantaire didn’t immediately answer, Enjolras forcibly removed his arms from around his head and bent his own closer. “Something terrible has happened, I can tell. What is it?”

“Your brother,” Grantaire mumbled.

“What has he—” Enjolras stopped talking, raised his head and sniffed the air. “Has something been burning in here?”

Before Grantaire could answer, Enjolras took himself over to the fireplace and let out a horrified gasp as he saw the fragments of paper still sat in front of the now cool grate. “No! All your beautiful work! This is too much. We cannot let him get away with this!”

Grantaire sat up a little. “No, you mustn’t say anything to him! Promise me, Enjolras. It will cause me great pain if you do and I have suffered enough!” His only thought was of Enjolras’ safety in that moment. The one thing that made the endured beatings bearable was the knowledge that they were now directed at him instead of Enjolras; it was inconceivable to allow anything to risk disturbing that balance.

“Grantaire-“

“Promise me!”

Enjolras returned to Grantaire’s side and sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Very well. I promise.”

Grantaire held his stare for a moment. There were tears in Enjolras’ eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered.

Still, there was no way Grantaire was going to allow himself to shed a tear no matter how strong the provocation. Instead, he lowered his head again to the pillow and closed his eyes. It was too much to see Enjolras’ face in the flesh at that moment. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he was alert to the presence of the other boy and every little movement he made, including the way his weight shifted as he climbed up on the bed and laid down beside Grantaire, saying nothing as he wrapped an arm around him and held him close.


	6. Six

_1815 – 1818: Enjolras and Grantaire are growing up._

Life at Wuthering Heights changed dramatically for Enjolras and even more so for Grantaire in the year of 1815 when Montparnasse left for University. His departure was welcomed not only by both the boys but, reluctantly, by the other members of the household also. Enjolras and Montparnasse’s father could no longer deny the trouble that having his eldest son around seemed to invoke. Montparnasse was careful not to display anything that could be used as evidence but he had no need to; just his dark presence brought an air of menace into the house from which it was impossible to escape unscathed. The atmosphere once the troubled young man departed was vastly more pleasant and for the first time since his arrival, Grantaire felt safe in the house that was finally beginning to feel like home to him.

Nobody noticed the changes in Grantaire more than Enjolras. After Montparnasse left, the only boy who had ever really felt like a true sibling to him blossomed overnight into an engaging young man whom Enjolras struggled even more to be away from. There had been something about Grantaire that had beguiled Enjolras from the first moment of their meeting and it had only grown stronger and more enrapturing as the years passed. It was not that he was an easy character to be around; the exact opposite was true when something stirred him into a passionate frenzy, be it the constant abuse from Montparnasse or the frustration over the presence of Eponine, and these were the times that Enjolras almost found himself wishing he had the ability to detach himself from the other boy. Such a thing wasn’t possible, he was quickly learning, and in the years after Montparnasse left and Grantaire’s mood lightened, he also no longer wished to. It became a pleasure to be in his company to the extent that Enjolras could stand no longer than the bare minimum time apart. A condition which Grantaire seemed equally afflicted by.

Not everyone, however, seemed to think this was a good thing. Fantine, who had a curiously competent habit of observing things unseen and unsaid, expressed her concern over the boys’ closeness on numerous occasions to the head of the house, only to be dismissed as nonsensically fanciful in her observations. She was less easily swayed, however.

“Dear Fantine, I cannot believe it was father’s idea when he hardly knows the family,” said Enjolras to the housekeeper as he sat at the kitchen table watching her kneading dough. “You may as well admit to me that you conspired to plant the idea in his head for I know it to be true anyway.”

The year was 1818 and the Spring when Enjolras began his sixteenth year, as well as the one which marked eight years since Grantaire had been brought home; double the length of both their lives so far. It felt like much longer than that to Enjolras who chose not to remember a time when Grantaire wasn’t a part of his life. The memories he had which preceded that event felt entirely irrelevant.

Fantine stopped her task for just long enough to grace Enjolras with an impassive look that made him smirk. “I’ll thank you to not be making such wild assumptions. Besides, I should think you would be more agreeable to the idea. The young Eponine is your friend, is she not?”

“You know she is.”

“Well then!” Fantine exclaimed, raising her hands to gesture and inadvertently dusting more of the table with flour. “So why would you not be pleased that we are entertaining her family at last? Goodness, you are at the Grange enough times, it is long overdue I would say. And I for one am looking forward to meeting this younger sister of hers that she talks so often about.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t pleased. Although her Aunt is a formidable creature, as you are to find out. I only think the timing is unfortunate.”

Fantine arched a brow. “And why do you say that?”

Enjolras knew he was being tested but he had never hidden anything from Fantine and had no desire to start doing so. “You know how Grantaire will react so do not pretend it hasn’t occurred to you until now. Do you wish him to be unhappy?”

“What a thing to say! Of course I do not. I want only happiness for both my boys,” said Fantine, looking unusually weakened by emotion for a moment as she rubbed the back of her hand across her warm forehead before she recovered and resumed working the mound of dough. “I am afraid to say it but Grantaire needs to learn that he cannot have you all to himself all the time. It is not healthy. I think it will do him good, even if he perhaps does not see it that way at present.”

Enjolras watched the woman work and smiled. “How I love you Fantine.”

“Shush with that nonsense. If I am so favourable you can go and collect the eggs for me. That is if you still wish me to make your favourite seed cake.”

Enjolras got to his feet because he _did_ want the cake, and he also wanted to do something to contribute to this meal in some small way because in spite of his reservations about Grantaire, he really did want Eponine’s company as well.

*

Contrary to collective expectation, it was not Grantaire who caused the issue at the meal. Grantaire was quiet throughout and avoided contributing to the gathering in any way, choosing instead to sit hunched in his seat, concentrating too hard on the food he was eating and being far too polite to utter a word for his mouth was full of Fantine’s delicious baking. He was, however, not so petty that he showed any sign of delight in the fact that Eponine spent the entire event looking thoroughly miserable and red faced, as if she had been crying consistently for days on end. Nor at the way her younger sister Cosette continued to speak out of turn and instigate the constant admonishment of her Aunt. In short, no one seemed particularly pleased to be there.

When the meal was over and the elder members of the party were retiring to the parlour for drinks, accompanied by a very sour faced Cosette who was given a book she seemed entirely uninterested in reading, Enjolras took the opportunity he had been awaiting since the meal began.

“Eponine, may I show you the new foal that was born last week?”

The girl, usually as carefree and reckless as the boy she had befriended, was noticeably more restrained as she turned to her Aunt and spoke without any hint of emotion. “May I, Aunt?”

“If you wish, but do not get too close to the creature. I will not be happy if your new dress gets ruined.”

Enjolras half expected Grantaire to accompany them and, as always, was disappointed when he didn’t but could not escape the heat of the other boy’s stare as he and Eponine made their way from the room. However, when the two of them were alone on the walk to the stables and Eponine began to cry, his attention was immediately diverted.

“What on earth is the matter? I have never seen you so unhappy.”

Eponine sniffled as she walked, her head down. “I am being sent overseas for Finishing School. Aunt says it is important for me because I have so much still to learn and she says I should have had the wildness tamed out of me by this age as it is. Enjolras, I do not want to be tamed! And I certainly do not want to leave you for an entire year!”

Enjolras felt a wave of sadness and relief in equal strength and he could not understand the latter, but for the obvious ease of life with Grantaire that Eponine’s absence would offer. “I shall certainly miss you and I do not wish you to go but it is only a year. We shall be reunited on your return.”

By now, they were at the stables but as Enjolras pulled Eponine excitedly towards the foal, eager to share the new addition with her, the girl’s expression was not one of delight but unhidden frustration as she wrenched her arm out of his grasp and sighed animatedly. “How are you able to be so calm? We are not to see each other for a year! Will you not miss me at all?”

“Of course I shall miss you Eponine! You are like a sister to me. I will miss you dearly.”

“I am like a sister to you?”

Enjolras laughed as the foal nuzzled his hand but Eponine was still disinterested and when he turned his attention to her, she was glaring at him. “Do not look so sour, it makes you look like your Aunt! And yes, you know I love you as if you were my very own sister and I always will. I shall be eagerly awaiting your safe return.”

“At which time we will both be too old to be left alone without a chaperone.”

“Indeed. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“This is likely our last chance to be alone Enjolras.”

“Look, Eponine, see how graceful he is already when he prances! Oh isn’t be a beautiful thing?”

Eponine sighed angrily as she turned away and took a makeshift seat upon a bail of hay. “You are not listening to me! Sometimes I think you are being purposely as ignorant as that lodger of yours.”

This was successful in drawing Enjolras’ attention away from the young horse. “I am not going to quarrel with you now when I am not to see you again for a time as it would be like spending a year trapped in an unescapable darkness so please do not speak of Grantaire in such a way.”

“You love him more than you love me!”

“It is not a contest! Why am I not permitted to love you both?”

Eponine stood face to face with Enjolras and waited and when he neither spoke or moved after a moment of anticipated silence, she shook her head and laughed unkindly. “I think it is you who needs to go to finishing school Enjolras. It is _YOU_ who knows nothing of the world.”

Enjolras did not try to hide the hurt she had inflicted, yet it was her eyes and not his that had suddenly filled with tears. “Eponine, why are you being so cruel? This is not like you. I understand that you are upset about leaving but why should you be trying to lay the blame for this at my feet?”

“Because it _IS_ your fault, you foolish boy! Why are you blind to that? My Aunt would not be sending me away if I had not spent so much time following you so recklessly about all over your damned moors!”

“If that is true I am so very sorry. I never wished to cause you pain simply by being your friend.” Enjolras tried to reach out to embrace the girl but she shied away and turned her back.

“You do not understand one thing about this. I was a fool to think you would! My Aunt is not sending me away because she thinks you have somehow turned me into a wild boy like you,” said Eponine and turned back to face him. “She is sending me away because I am in love with you.”

Enjolras took an involuntary step backwards and the action, though unintended, was enough to make Eponine visibly shrink into her own pain. The girl waited, risking the occasional glance up at Enjolras who was staring at her blankly.

When it became clear he either could not or would not answer, she spoke again, in a smaller voice, and brought her arms up to hug herself protectively. “You do not say the same to me.”

“Eponine, you know that I love you. I tell you often.”

She smiled sadly and her eyes shone with tears. “Like a sister? No, do not attempt to come closer to me Enjolras,” she said, stepping back quickly as he approached. “I am no longer a little girl who is happy to be another brother to you. You do not need me for that. You have Grantaire. I fear you will never be free of him, or he of you. But I shall not be here to be burdened by either of you any longer and so I will bid you good day and be pleased to do so. Goodbye Enjolras.”


End file.
